


Bond's Break-ins

by AtoTheBean



Series: Ato's 007 Fest Fan Creations [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Headcanon, James Bond Breaks In, James gets a bit of a surprise, M/M, Q's still a bit scared, The Secret's Out, aaaand now there's sex, coming to terms with things, earning the mature rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 04:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for 2018 007 Fest, but is also going to be the first story in a longer series

The first time it happens, he’s been back about two months. Long enough to know that MI6 is still a bit bruised over the near disaster of Nine Eyes and the almost-merger. Long enough to realize that despite everything he sacrificed in that mission, everything he sacrificed when he left, and everything he hoped to salvage when he came back, there are a fair number of people who wish he’d stayed away. So much so, it appears, that someone leaked his whereabouts to the enemy when he was on mission, whether by accident or deliberately he can’t be sure.

When he hobbles back to London via his own arrangements, he’s sure entering -6 is a bad idea. He still isn’t sure who the mole is. Likewise, his new flat is unlikely to be secure. This new M is unlikely to take a break-in any better than the old one and is likely to be even less comforting than the Iron Maiden. Yet, he has a cut that requires stitches. And it’s raining — because of course it is — so he takes the only reasonable choice and finds himself staring up the brick facade on the courtyard side of Q’s building, eying the tiny 8th-floor balcony, hoping he’s up for the climb.

He is, if barely, and he’s just working on the window latch when he sees Q’s startled form through the glass, wearing a loose t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. Eyes wide and glasses askew, he dives for something James _hopes_ isn’t a weapon, as he’s in no position to defend himself while clinging to a wet, slippery railing, and he really thought Q might be the only person in -6 he still trusts.

It turns out to be an iPad, which Q pokes at in a near panic, until he stills, takes a deep breath, and levels an accusing look at Bond through the glass.

“Are you _barking_?” he asks when he opens the window and pulls Bond in, allowing him to collapse unceremoniously onto the floor. “Did you really think the _Quartermaster of MI6_ would have a flat you could just _break into_? If the alarm hadn’t woken me when it did... another _four_ seconds and that glass would have shocked you, and you would have fallen onto the wrought iron garden fence below. It would have killed you IF you were lucky.”

James is impressed. But... “Glass isn’t a conductor.”

Q rolls his eyes so hard James can almost _hear_ it.

“There’s a film fused to the outside of the panes that’s embedded with microwires. I assure you, it conducts electricity just splendidly. Shall we test it?”

“No,” James answers quickly.

Q looks appeased, but still at a bit of a loss.

“They knew I would be there, Q.”

He sighs and looks as weary as James feels.

“I know. Alright, up with you. I assume you have some injury that requires stitches, and that’s why you didn’t just check into the Savoy.”

“Got it in one.”

He ushers Bond into the bathroom, tells him to shower, and when Bond comes out in a towel, Q stitches up his shoulder with remarkable skill. Then he supplies James with a set of tracksuit bottoms that actually fit him — which is a mystery Bond sets aside to ponder later — along with pillows and blankets for the sofa. Before wishing him goodnight, Q has James press his clean, dry hand against the iPad, and James wonders if he hasn’t just been given a very awkward key to Q’s flat.

He sleeps well that night, for the first time in weeks.


	2. The Second Time

The second time, Bond knows Q has been on leave for several days, because R was handling his mission. It’s Saturday night, and James assumes Q will be home, but when he tumbles onto the floor, the flat is silent.

Just as well. He doesn’t really need Q seeing him fall on his arse a second time. Two sets of feline eyes watch impassively as he climbs to his feet and stumbles to the bathroom. He remembers where everything is. He’ll shower, and if need be, he’ll stitch himself up.

He’s partway through the bliss of hot water soothing sore muscles and Q’s Aveda shampoo — which Bond grudgingly admits smells _amazing_ — when he hears the door slam and freezes.

“Bond, is that you bleeding on my floors?” comes the inquiry through the door a moment later.

“Well, you did code my palm prints into your security system so the windows wouldn’t shock me. I took it as an invitation,” he calls out over the flow of the water.

“Does R know you’re safe, or should I call in?”

“She knows I’m in London, not precisely where. I’d just as soon keep it that way.”

“I’ll just get the medkit, shall I?” comes a much quieter response, and Bond turns to see Q rummaging through the cabinets of the bathroom, his back to the shower. And James isn’t body shy at all, but he’s surprised that Q is comfortable walking in while he’s showering. The boffin adds, “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done. I’ll sterilize the needles.”

He comes out in a towel a few minutes later, and Q looks at his bare chest in confusion.

“Where are you injured?” he asks.

Bond pulls at the gap in the towel to show a gash on his outer thigh.

“Right. Up on the table  with you, and put your foot on the chair.”  He spreads out the med kit on an adjacent counter and sits so he's more or less eye-level with the wound, Bond looking down on his studious proddings. “Not too bad. This should just take a mo’,” he says, spreading the numbing agent around the gash.

Q… well, James has never seen him like this. He isn’t wearing his glasses. His hair is styled, though it looks like it’s been mussed since he applied whatever product makes his curls fall over his brow like that. He’s wearing slim jeans and a top that’s essentially mesh and utterly transparent, and there’s _charcoal_ around his eyes.

He looks… alluring. Playful and sexy and... something else. There’s a looseness and ease in the way he moves, a sheen on his skin, almost as though…

“You’ve had sex,” James accuses.

Q looks up at him through his lashes and smirks.

“Well spotted, Bond. You must be one of those spies I keep hearing about,” he quips, tying off another stitch.

“Are you old enough to have sex?”

Q jabs him with the needle. “You’re a brave man, trying to insult me when I’m armed and you’re a bit slow on the uptake. But I’m in _far_ too good of a mood to let you ruin it. Now hold still. We wouldn’t want this needle to slip again.”

Q stitches, his attention still razor sharp despite the relaxed posture of his body. James is suddenly acutely aware that Q’s face is near his bare thigh, and the rest of him is covered by a mere towel.  Q’s lips are moist where he’s licked them in concentration and _fuck_ this is not the time to get an erection. James is still far too close to the failure with Madeleine, not at all interested in anything sexual that doesn’t involve gleaning secrets from an enemy, which Q most certainly is not.

And yet, that night, as he’s tossing and turning on the sofa after listening to Q shower — because his leg hurts, of course, not because of any other distractions — he realizes that his mind keeps returning to Q’s charcoal-lined lids, and how green his eyes appear without his glasses, and how pink and wide his lips are. In his mind’s eye, he sees Q’s smirking glance through long lashes… too knowing by far. He imagines that instead of stitching him up in that moment, Q saw James’ arousal and gave him another mischievous look, spread his knees, loosened the towel, and swallowed his cock to the stem in one sure move.

He has no idea if his deductions about Q’s sexuality are correct, but as he recovers from his indulgent wank, he realizes that Q has become a sexual being to him.

And his life has probably just gotten a lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. The Third Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed, so sorry for any mistakes. This is also meant to fulfill the platonic touching prompt.

The third time it happens, Bond isn’t even on mission. Alec is, and James has been in Q-branch for hours watching as Q works ruthlessly to pull Alec’s arse out of the fire, bringing to bear every satellite under his control and every bit of surveillance tech he can bend to his will, from CCTV to Instagram posts.

Finally, at half ten, Alec is safely in a medivac hopter and Q slumps against the desk, nearly knocking over the long-since-cold tea and biscuits the minions had been trying to feed him as he worked.

“He looks completely knackered,” Eve says quietly to James. “He needs a good shag, a good meal, and a good sleep… not necessarily in that order.”

James hums his agreement and thinks perhaps he can help with at least two of those.

“Can you make sure he’s poured into a car to take him home within the next hour?” James requests.

“Sure you don’t want to drive him yourself?” Eve asks archly. And damn the woman. She’s far too knowing for someone who’s no longer a field agent.

James decides it’s easiest to come partially clean. “Then who would get to Tesco before it closes and make sure he’s got groceries beyond biscuits and old take away containers?”

“Good point. And M will probably send him home for a few days — not that it’s likely to work.”

“You get him home in a timely manner, and I’ll drop by with groceries so he doesn’t starve.”

Eve’s responding grin is more conspiratorial than accusing, and James hopes that convincing her he’s signed onto the “Keep the head boffin alive” club will keep her off the scent of the truth about… whatever it is actually happening between them. James isn’t sure, actually.

Climbing the bricks with two bags linked over his shoulders is challenging, but nothing too strenuous. He resists the urge to snoop while he’s in the flat alone — Q isn’t a mark, after all — and by the time Q stumbles through the door, he’s got a nice Puttanesca simmering and a bottle of red wine breathing. Not that he suspects Q will need alcohol to fall asleep, but one never knows… it was a trying mission.

“Bond?”

Q is staring like James might be some figment of his overtaxed mind.

“Go take a shower and put on your favorite pajamas — the ones most likely to allow you to do untold damage in the morning before your first cup of tea — and I’ll put the pasta on now that you're here. I didn’t want to risk it getting mushy.”

Q opens his mouth to say something. Closes it. Starts again, but ultimately turns away and patters down the hall to do as he’s told. Which is either a sign of just how exhausted he is, or how much more suggestible he is at home, because that would _never_ have worked in Q-branch.

He comes back in a pair of tartan flannel sleep pants and a loose t-shirt about 15 minutes later, just as James is dishing up the pasta. He looks as if he's confused, but is too tired to question a meal appearing in his home at the end of a long day. He sits at one of the place settings and takes a generous sip of the wine.

“Do you want cheese?” James asks, as he places a full plate in front of Q. He’s thin, but more muscular than James had realized.

“Why not? I wouldn’t want to make this meal less posh than you intend… I’m half surprised there’s no caviar starter.”

James grins and sits down. “I wasn’t sure you’d have the patience for multiple courses. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake enough to make it through even one, to be honest. Bon Appetit.”

“Cheers,” Q replies, with another sip of his wine. He takes a bite, groaning as it hits his taste buds. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you, Q.” James tucks in to eat, too. He hasn’t been ignoring the needs of his body as long as Q has, but he’s still very ready for dinner.

Q’s gets about halfway through the plate when he slows down enough to give James an assessing look. James braces himself for the obvious question.

“So, why are you here? Do you… Do you need something from me?”

That actually hurts a bit more than he’d have expected. But he supposes it’s a fair question, based on the other times he’s broken into Q’s flat.

“What would you have eaten if I hadn’t cooked for you?”

“Nothing. I might not have even showered before going to bed, which I would have regretted come morning.”

James tilts his head, as if his purpose here is now obvious.

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Q asserts, logically. “Why are you here?”

James peers at his wine glass, tilting the contents. The problem, he realizes, is that he doesn’t know the answer himself.

“I saw what you went through to bring Alec home.”

“Bond, that happens at least once a week with one of you. This is the first time it’s earned me a fresh pasta dinner.”

“Maybe it’s the first time I realized how much you go through to keep us safe.”

“Well, then, you’re a terrible spy.”

“Maybe so.”

Q rolls his eyes. “Not at all so. Fine. You don’t have to tell me. I’m too tired to work it out now, but I’ll suss it out come morning. Thank you, James, that was delicious.”

“You’re welcome, Q. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll wash up here and get out of your hair?”

Q gives him an odd look, and he wonders for a moment if Q was expecting a seduction attempt. But before anything becomes awkward, Q sighs and looks away. “I really don’t think I can sleep yet. Which is unfortunate, because I’m bloody exhausted.” He wipes his eyes under his glasses and stares into the other room.

“Well, then, take some wine over to the sofa and relax. I’m absolutely not accepting any help washing up; it was my idea, after all.”

Q looks as if he might argue if he weren’t so tired, but instead refills his glass and patters over to the sofa, muttering something about _of course James knows where everything in his kitchen goes_.

James tidies the kitchen, puts the leftovers in the refrigerator alongside the other groceries he’d purchased. He wipes the counters down and places the tin of the “good tea” next to the kettle for the morning. When he can think of nothing else to wipe down or tidy up, he admits it’s time to go.

“I’ll just let myself out the front, shall—”

He stops dead in his tracks, confronted with the vision of Q curled up in the corner of the sofa, wine glass precariously close to spilling out of his hand, snoring softly.

This is… he shouldn't be here. Shouldn’t see this. He’s sure his quartermaster wouldn’t appreciate it. And yet, Q is enough of a spy not to fall asleep if he weren’t comfortable. He’s forced Bond out of his office enough times that if Q _really_ hadn’t wanted James to see him this disarmed, he wouldn’t have let it happen.

And that understanding makes James value the trust and this sight even more. He rescues the wine glass before it can spill and stain the Persian carpet, crouches in front of Q.

“You’re younger than I am, but I still don’t think your back will thank you for sleeping like that.” And with that, he scoops the boffin up and carries him to the back of the flat. Instead of waking, Q actually snuggles into Bond’s chest. And that’s… unexpected.

Bond passes the bathroom he’s used several times now after missions, past a closed door that not only appears locked, but has an electronic keypad mechanism adjacent to keep intruders or possibly over-familiar agents from entering. Servers, James imagines, though this level of security for a home office seems a bit extreme.  He walks past an open door to a home gym — which might explain why Q is denser and stronger than he first appears — and to the door at the end of the hall, which he’s seen Q disappear into when he’s been over before, though he’s never ventured inside.

He barely notices the laptop perched on the corner chair or the closet overflowing with suits, cardigans, and even more interesting, shiny items that he assumes are “clubwear” before nearly falling as he deposits Q onto the sheets of the thankfully unmade bed. As he tries to pull away, though, he realizes that Q has clutched his shirt in his sleep. And he won’t let go.

Hovering over the man, James is torn between wrenching himself away and likely waking the boffin, leading to a potentially awkward situation, or just waiting for Q to relax in his sleep. He chooses the later. Better that Q doesn’t remember how he got to his bedroom than that he wakes to find Bond looming over him.

James carefully lowers himself beside Q and holds himself still as the boffin shifts and gets comfortable, head resting in the crook of James’ arm. He’s muttering something, clearly in some distress, as if reliving part of the mission. James strokes his arm reassuringly, and Q settles.

As he waits for Q to fall into a part of the sleep cycle that will allow him to slip away, James ponders Q’s dedication. Of course, he’s always known that Q is always available and capable when he needs support on mission. And he hasn’t heard any complaints from the other 00’s, meaning Q’s likely doing the same for them, or at least managing other Q-branchers who are in turn managing those missions. And of course it’s a tough job, and James has seen Q-branch staffers burn out in a matter of years… more quickly, often, than the agents themselves. They get all of the stress without the exhilaration of the fieldwork. Tonight, he thinks he’s gotten a glimpse of how seriously Q takes his job, how much stress he must internalize under that cool, snarky facade. As Q settles, and James is finally able to slip out of the bed and creep back down the hall, turning out lights and letting himself out the front, he wonders what Q does to burn off steam. He _has_ to do something to release all that stress and keep some balance. Clubbing, perhaps.

James hopes it’s enough. He hopes that whatever coping mechanism Q has chosen, it will keep him sane enough to be in the job, snarking at James for a good, long time.

He’d absolutely hate to lose Q to burnout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. The Fourth Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These keep getting longer and looking more like chapters than little headcanons, but oh well. 
> 
> I'm counting this one as fulfilling the Flirting Under Fire and Failed Seduction Attempt (if only mixing and matching the table prompts got me points). 
> 
> Also, please note that you should mind the tags with each new chapter. At some point soon, I'll be moving beyond this fluff and into explicit and rather kinky stuff... if that's not your cup of tea, you might want to quit before you get to that bit. 
> 
> Unbetaed, and possibly a right mess...

The fourth time… well, he needs to back up a bit.

Bond had been away on mission for a long time. More than four weeks, with Q occasionally in his ear helping him out of a fix or imparting some new intelligence. And during the quiet parts of the mission, James had quite a lot of time to think.

There are the mysteries he’s noticed because of his break-ins. The track pants that fit Bond but would definitely not be slim enough or long enough for Q. Perhaps suggesting a boyfriend? And if that’s the case, is it a current boyfriend, or an ex? And if current, is he the clubbing partner? Or is Q clubbing because he’s _not_ currently in a relationship? Or is he straight, and the tracksuit bottoms belong to a friend? Or are they a mis-sized gift?

Then there’s the locked hallway door. He’s subtly asked Eve if she knew if MI6 maintained servers offsite, and she gave him an emphatic no. So if the room houses computers, they’re Q’s personal servers, which brings up more mysteries: what’s he doing at home that requires such processing power and isn’t for work? It could just be a home office, but he knows Q has a laptop, and it seems odd to have both. But then again, he’s not a computer genius. Maybe having both is standard. But considering the custom security Q has implemented for the flat as a whole, the additional security for this room has Bond intrigued.

And that’s always a dangerous thing.

It’s not that Bond thinks Q is up to anything nefarious. There’s a reason he ended up scaling _Q’s_ wall all those weeks ago. He’d grown to trust Q before he left, and despite the icy reception on his return, that hadn’t faded. It’s just that when Bond sniffs out a mystery… well, he finds it hard to resist. And Q is turning out to be a bit of a mystery. An intriguing mystery.

James finds he’d really like to know what Q looks like at a club. When he’s not buttoned up and ramrod straight and speaking in crisp syllables.

They start chatting more during the mission. Just Bond making an observation about something he sees in Istanbul and Q making some idle comment back. James shouldn’t be surprised that he knows so much about the world, even if he hasn’t seen much of it with his own eyes. He’s basically mainlined the internet, can often access Instagram posts of whatever sunset Bond is seeing in real time. It’s interesting to know what Q _knows_ versus what he can look up quickly, and James gets an ear for both.

It’s friendly. Comfortable. _Almost_ that old flirtatious banter they’d once shared. Their current interactions still haven’t quite reached that level.

Not for a lack of effort on Bond’s part.

“Q?” he asks late one night, as he’s doing surveillance on a warehouse.

“Hmmm?”

“What sort of food do you like?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a simple question.”

There’s a bit of typing on the other end. “I’ll eat anything,” he finally answers.

“I’m aware of the fact that when you’re working incessantly and practically starving yourself, you’ll eat whatever some brave minion places by your tea. But that’s not what I asked. What do you _enjoy_? What do you get odd cravings for?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity. I occasionally crave avocado, of all things. Felix gives me absolute shite about it.”

“California Cuisine, eh? My taste tends to be more traditional.”

“Really? That’s a bit surprising.”

“How so?”

“You’re not very traditional in other ways,” Bond ventures, not even sure if it’s true.

Q snorts. A good sign.

“I suppose I miss good French food.”

Ah, now he’s getting somewhere.

And also, there’s a door opening.

“Ah, Q? I think I need to beat a hasty retreat. East door is open and someone is coming straight for me.”

“I’ve got him. Another coming from the south.”

“They might have noticed my handiwork.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“They’re angry. You’ve got everything you needed off that connection, haven’t you, Q?”

“Yes… _why_?”

“I left one of your lovely little incendiaries behind…”

Q sees the explosion on the CCTV. And then he hears the bullets.

“So anyway, French food,” Bond continues as he turns to run. “There’s a little place in Notting Hill. The Ledbury, do you know it?”

“Ah, no,” Q says absently. “Authorities are on their way.”

“Noted. Thank you. So, we should go sometime,” he suggests somewhat breathlessly, dodging bullets.

“Go where, 007?”

“The Ledbury”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line as Bond continues to run.

“Are you… are you asking me out on a date while under _fire_?”

“Please Q, ‘under fire’ would imply these goons had any aim at all. I’ll be clear momentarily. So what do you say?”

Another long pause. James is encouraged; he expected to be shut down immediately.

“I’m not sure I’ll have the time or inclination to go out anytime soon, Bond. We have three agents on mission and half of Q-branch is out with the flu. But I appreciate the thought.”

James smiles. That’s not a ‘no’.

Which is why he’s presently scaling Q’s wall again at 10 at night, wearing a backpack full of delicious French food. The restaurant doesn’t normally offer takeaway but James has known the owner for a while, and tips _very_ well.

Q pads into the sitting room as James springs — not tumbles, mind you, and there’s a first — onto the carpet.

“What’s this?” Q asks. “I thought you’d been back a few days. You aren’t _still_ injured, are you?”

“Ah, I was off mission, but _you_ were still leading Alec until this evening. So I held off. But now it’s getting cold, so if you have a few dishes, we can plate this up.”

“Plate what up?” Q is looking interested now. James was apparently correct in assuming Q would be too tired to shop or cook tonight.

“A variety of offerings from The Ledbury. I hope you haven’t already succumbed to some dismal instant noodle pot.”

“I haven’t,” Q manages, surprised. “I was just starting to consider ordering from the Chinese shop downstairs.”

“Is it good?”

“Not particularly, which is why I hadn’t done it yet.”

“Well, this _is_ good. So I suggest we don’t delay.”

Q makes absolutely pornographic sounds as he takes the first bites, and James can’t stop watching his mouth. Or his throat as he swallows a sip of wine. Or really any part of him. He’s not sure when drinking in the sight of the slender boffin in his pajamas became so compelling, but it has. Despite the fact that Q looks exhausted, he seems content to be sitting with James eating in five-star style. Well, the food is five-star. The ambiance is a bit casual, perhaps, but for that James is all the more pleased. Q tries everything, but gravitates toward the lentil gratin and the duck. James lets him eat his fill, and pulls out the box of tiny truffles as Q starts to slow down.

Q is definitely giving him appreciative looks. Looks almost sideways from under his lashes, which make James’ pulse quicken. He’s thought about it. Courting Q. Seducing Q. But not just with his body and attention. He doesn’t want Q for just a night, he doesn’t think. Hence the meal, even if Q is too tired to go out.

“Thank you, James. That was truly delicious.” He looks… anticipatory. As if he’s not sure what comes next. Or what he wants to come next.

“My pleasure, Q. Someday, perhaps we can enjoy it _in situ_ and attired more formally. It’s a lovely place.”

Q tilts his head noncommittally.

“Let me help put what’s left in the fridge and clean up. You can easily get another meal out of it.”

“You brought enough for four,” Q agrees.

“I wasn’t sure of your preferences, and didn’t want to leave you unsatisfied.”

It’s not meant to be suggestive, but with the energy already in the room, they both lock eyes, and color rises in Q’s cheeks as he stands to clear the table. There’s an awkwardness about him, and James still doesn’t know him well enough to know if it’s nerves or reluctance.

James feels out of his element. If Q were a job, he’d know just what to do. A bit of brash charm and physical assertion and Q would be melting against him, he’s sure. But at what cost? He doesn’t want Q regretting anything between them. He’s still driven to try, standing just a bit closer than normal, almost crowding Q as he hands things over to be placed in the fridge. Q notices. When the fridge door closes and he straightens, they are standing close enough that James could just lean in the tiniest bit and kiss those rosy lips. His hand moves to brush against Q, looking for some sign that he would welcome James’ touch.

Q’s eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, James thinks _this is it_. But then Q stiffens, like he’s bracing himself. He licks his lips to speak. “James. I… I can’t. I really want to. You’re beautiful and have been so attentive and kind and I’m sure you’d be a _fabulous_ shag, but if that were all you wanted, you’d have had me by now. And if you want more… I just really think it won’t work.”

James isn’t sure if he should be amused or insulted. “So, if I just wanted a shag, you’d be up for it, but because you suspect I want more you’re ending things preemptively?”

“Yes?” Q sounds like it hurts to say the word. “Am I wrong about you not wanting a mere shag?”

No, he’s not. Why does James always have to like the smart ones?

“May I ask why? Do you need someone with more regular hours or… is it because of what I have to do on mission?”

“No, that doesn’t matter to me. It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s me.”

James huffs. “That’s rather clichéd. I must not be quite perfect.”

“Perfect. Just not perfect for me,” Q adds apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

James shakes his head. “There’s no need for apology, Q. If you aren’t feeling, what I thought… anyway, I appreciate you telling me straight.”

“It’s not… I feel it too, James. You aren’t imagining things. I just… I know myself. I know what I need.”

And for some reason, Q doesn’t think James can fulfill this need. That’s… he’s not sure, actually. “Tell me, Q,” he says quietly. “Do you enjoy my company?”

“Yes,” Q answers quickly. “Quite frankly, even when you’re being an arse.”

James smirks. “And do you find me attractive?”

“Bond, please don’t insult either of us with stupid questions.”

“Then, let’s try this. Let’s just spend some more time together. Let me take you to dinner a few times. Or, you can pick something out. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, with no agenda.”

“You were a perfect gentleman tonight, actually.”

“I was, wasn’t I? Possibly where I went wrong.”

Q huffs a laugh. “And if I don’t change my mind?”

“Then we’ll have had some enjoyable meals, and perhaps become proper friends.”

Q watches him for a moment. “That… sounds lovely, actually.”

“Well then, get some rest, and let me know sometime tomorrow when you’re free. And I’ll even come to the door to get you.”

They go on three of these non-date dates before Bond is pulled to the field again. Each time, Bond kisses Q goodnight on the cheek. The last time, Q kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. The Fifth Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags. This one deserves a Mature or Explicit rating. Also, #qbranchmystery. This one got long...I nearly split it, but decided you all deserved the full arc, such as it is. I'm hoping this isn't a trend... 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who are commenting, and sorry if I was delayed in responding to any of them. I'm caught up now and hope to be more timely.

The fifth time… Bond isn’t even sure how he managed to climb the wall. Isn’t sure why he’s here. Q’s assured him over comms that there’s no mole. A tech breach in one of the EU outposts had leaked details compromising previous missions, but the access never got to personnel files. There’s no reason to think his flat isn’t safe. And this mission went to shite all on its own.

Yet, here he is clinging to this damned balcony again, trying to decide whether he _really_ wants to subject Q to the mood he’s currently in. It’s not raining — thank _fuck_ — but there’s a cold mist. He feels that he’s been cold for days, and Q’s flat is somehow always warm and golden light in his mind.

He shouldn’t be here. It’s going to be a dark night. He should find some nice pub brawl to get himself into so he can exorcise the demons and maybe find a stranger to fuck. But that’s not where his feet led his tired mind. He’s too fatigued to hang on much longer. He needs to break in or climb back down.

As he tries to decide, Q sees him through the glass and nearly drops a computer in his haste to fling the window open and pull him inside.

“Bloody _hell_ , you’re freezing. How long have you been there? How long have you been in _London_? Your radio went silent outside Budapest. I didn’t expect to hear from you for days.”

James just shakes his head. He’d considered finding some beach in Greece to warm up on, but…

Q’s arms are wrapped around him and the window is closed again, and the flat does feel warm, but James can’t stop shaking. He closes his arms around Q, because that really does help. He holds Q tight against him, trying to draw his warmth, grateful that Q not only lets him, but seems just as intent to cling to James.

“The boy died,” James finally says into Q’s curls.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

James shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” Q counters, pulling back to search James’ face. “Of course it matters. He was innocent and trying to help you, and it was awful. I’m so sorry.”

James flinches away from the memory — that lanky, too-light boy going still and then cold as James tried to stop the bleeding and resuscitate him.

“Come on,” Q says, leading him to the bathroom. The walk feels longer than he remembers. “Are you injured?”

James shakes his head. The scrapes and bruises he sustained this mission aren’t the problem, and won’t even raise Q’s concern. Q starts the shower, and as the room fills up with steam, he reaches for James and starts peeling off layers clothes. James’ jacket. His shirt and vest. Bond watches him, unsure what to make of it as he keeps himself upright by leaning a hand against the wall. He finally recovers enough to toe off his own shoes.

“Let me go get you clean towels,” Q says, leaving him to finish undressing.

Q’s shower is blissfully warm and comfortingly familiar: bright without being oppressively cheerful. James leans against the white subway tiles and lets the water stream over his head and chest, not worrying for now about cleaning himself. Just trying to feel human. He’s still shaking. If anything, it seems to be getting worse. He tries to let his mind go blank, but lifeless eyes stare behind his closed lids.

He feels the cold air let in by the opening door before he hears Q enter the shower behind him. He doesn’t startle, though, when he feels a hand firmly on his hip or the brush of Q’s arm on his shoulder as he reaches past him for the sea sponge. Wordlessly, Q washes him. Wipes away sweat and grime and the bitterness of failure, until all that’s left is the ache of sadness and the scrape of Q’s fingers shampooing his hair.

At some point, James stops shaking. And at some point, his breath stops coming out in harsh, restrained sobs and instead is uneven with arousal. It’s then, when Q’s touch has finally driven away the despair and replaced it with want, Q pulls at his shoulder to try to turn him from the wall. James resists, unsure if Q would welcome his arousal and not at all able to handle a rejection from his one source of solace. And Q doesn’t force it. He just lathers the sponge again with that same aromatic body wash and reaches around James’ body to clean his chest. But now he’s standing much closer, almost pressed against James’ side, and James can feel the long, hard line of an erection pressed against his hip.

James nearly sobs as he spins to press Q against the tile wall and press a demanding kiss against his mouth. Q surrenders _beautifully_ , in a way James couldn’t have imagined based on his behavior at work. It’s exactly what he wants. Exactly what he _needs_ , and he’s trying to lift Q by the legs when the man finally resists.

“James wait. Not like that.” He kisses a quick apology. “You’re too tired and I don’t fancy dealing with a concussion when we tumble down onto the tile. Let me finish.” And with that Q gently turns them both, so James is facing the water again, only this time with Q between him and the spray. Q kisses him gently as he drags the sponge across his chest, and then James braces a hand on the wall again, because Q has dropped to his knees, dragging the sponge down James’ leg and back up again, and _bloody fucking hell_ he could get used to the sight of Q kneeling in front of him. Q washes him thoroughly, being even so bold as to kiss James’ hip as he rises and turns them both into the flow of the water to rinse them. Through it all, James has kept his hands on the shower walls, holding himself upright as he watches Q work, first in amazement, then fascination, then unmitigated desire. By the time Q shuts off the water and reaches outside for a towel, James is gripping the wall just so he won’t grab for Q again.

As if understanding that James is waiting to see what he’ll do next, Q glances up as he kneels again to dry James’ legs, his face tantalizingly close to James’ hard cock. He motions for James to turn, and dries the back of his legs and swell of his arse as he rises, finishing with his back and shoulders and finally draping the towel across James' neck. He reaches out for another towel, but James grabs it away from him, intent on returning Q’s attentions in kind. Q’s eyes flutter closed and lips open to breathe as James dries him. When James is finished, he tips Q’s chin up and gives him a gentle if-not-entirely-chaste kiss.

It’s strange after having Q as a disembodied voice in his ear for so long, to instead have him so very warm and solid and almost wordless as he threads his fingers through James’ and leads the way to the bed. James knows there are words that need saying — this is not where they left things — but as he covers Q’s body with his own and feels their erections align, he _cannot_ bring himself to care. Q is lovey and strong and amazingly responsive, not at all the shy, awkward, virginal thing he’d once imagined. All too soon, Q is reaching to the bedside table drawer and wordlessly placing a condom and bottle of lube in James’ hand, and James doesn’t hesitate to put both to use. One day soon he’ll want to thoroughly explore Q, but right now neither has the patience for that. He sinks into the warmth of Q’s body, grateful both for the gentleness of Q’s kisses as he restrains himself through the first wave of pleasure, and for the enthusiasm Q shows as Bond starts in earnest, compelling him to urgent, almost brutal thrusts, clinging to him with strong legs and arms and fingers that bruise until a searing bliss claws through him, and they’re both spent and gasping on their backs. Q recovers first, retreating to the loo and returning a moment later with a warm flannel, which he uses to clean James and then tosses in the hamper before climbing back into the bed and pulling James close. They fall asleep with James using Q’s chest as a pillow, pinning the lithe man to the bed and being lulled by the metronome of his heart.

He wakes after sunrise to an empty bed, but only has a moment to worry before Q returns with a tray holding two coffee mugs and a cell phone. He realizes the phone in his dream must have been real.

“M?” he asks as he accepts a mug, surprised to find it contains very strong coffee rather than tea.

“I told him that you had checked in with me, that you were safe and in Britain, but needed a day or two before you’d come in.”

“And he accepted that?”

“I told him that if he didn’t, you’d likely disappear again and then no one would know where you were. You’re officially on leave for the next few days.” Q takes a sip looking rather pleased. Still rather formal, though.

“But you aren’t,” James guesses.

“Sadly, no. Margot’s in the field and just sent back some intelligence I need to follow up on. I’m expected in by nine.”

He shifts to get up, but James reaches out to grasp his wrist. “Wait.” And when Q settles back on the bed, he continues, “Thank you for last night. I… I needed that more than I can say, and I know it’s not necessarily what you want between us.”

Q raises an eyebrow. “What part of my hard cock made you think I didn’t want it?”

James smirks into his coffee, surprised again by Q’s candor. “Last night you seemed very willing, or I assure you nothing would have happened. But when I left for this mission, you were still hesitant to get involved.”

Q looks down at his mug and fingers the rim. James realizes he’s seen him do this before and wonders if it’s a tell. “I confess I’m still worried.”

“That I’ll hurt you?” James guesses.

“That we’ll hurt each other. That we can’t give each other what we each need, and it will ruin what we do have. But last night you came to me despite not being injured. And I admit, I really like being the person you come to. Despite my misgivings.”

James watches him and sips his coffee, relieved that Q doesn’t seem to regret last night, but also strangely reassured that he’s not painting too rosy a picture. James doesn’t want to disappoint him, either. “What is it you think I need that you might not be able to provide?” Because from where James is standing, he can’t think of anything.

“Fidelity,” Q answers without hesitating.

Ah. He takes a sip of coffee, allowing several pieces of information fall into place as Q looks on, almost nervously.

“You realize I can’t offer that, either. You know what I have to do on mission.”

“It’s not the same,” Q says quietly.

Perhaps not, but it’s not completely dissimilar, and James doesn’t feel likes he’s in a position to demand such a thing. “Q, I’m much more concerned with being welcome in your bed between missions than worrying about who shares it when I’m out.”

Q’s sharp intake of breath is telling. “It’s not that anyone else would be welcome in my _bed_ , per se. But…”

“But you go clubbing after missions to blow off steam. That’s part of how you manage the stress of the job, and sex is involved. I’m not going to judge that, Q, though I would dearly love to see you dance one day.”

The look on Q’s face is utterly priceless. James smirks as he takes his next sip of coffee, pleased to think he got at least a good bit of that right.

“That’s not entirely… that is to say, it’s rather more complicated…”

Q looks to be screwing up his courage when the phone rings again. James thinks Q might fling it across the room, but then he closes his eyes and allows a mask to fall over his face. He’s every bit his work persona as he answers, “Q here… yes? No. Absolutely not. I don’t trust those cables, R, they’ve been flakey, and I think rats have gotten to them. They need to be rerun. Yes, through the tunnels. I’m fully aware, but I have a plan that should make it possible without breaking our budget… I haven’t given M _all_ the details. Just the bottom line. I’ll explain when I get in.” He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “As soon as I can manage. Fine. Ta, R.”

He puts the phone down, eyes still closed. James can see the rebellion flare up in his face and then sink as the needs of the job take precedent.

“Duty calls,” James says quietly, and Q nods and opens his eyes, which still burning with something unsaid. In this, at least, they understand each other. “If Margot’s mission goes well, perhaps I’ll see you tonight.”

Q shrugs noncommittally. They both know it’s unlikely.

There’s something in his face… some guilt or pain. Something that makes James think that for all his comparative youth and lack of blood on his hands, Q fundamentally thinks himself as undeserving of love as any agent he knows. James can’t put his finger on what intuition tells him this, and he can’t imagine what might be the cause, but he suddenly feels very protective of Q. Even from himself.

“Until you can explain it to me, then,” he adds quietly, “rest assured that whatever you need do for yourself to remain sane and able to welcome me back is fine with me.”

Q’s features contort into disbelief.

“I’m serious. You know what I have to do on mission. Sometimes you’re forced to _watch_. That might even be hard for you now; I don’t know how good you are at compartmentalizing. But regardless, I’m in no position to offer fidelity, and I’m certainly not going to demand it. We will define what this is as we’re able, but in the meantime, if you like being the one I come to for what I need, then you should know that I also like coming to you. Both when I see you in need — even if it’s just of a decent meal — and when I have a need myself. And I hope to offer you more than the occasional hot plate, but duty comes first. For both of us, I suspect.”

Q nods thoughtfully, resigned to leaving things there for the moment. “Well, help yourself to breakfast before you go. I wish I didn’t have to dash, but…” He shrugs. “Oh, and press your hand here,” he adds, pulling up an iPad from the nightstand. James obeys, hearing a reassuring ping before Q turns the device back to himself and closes the application.

“I should go get ready,” Q says reluctantly.

“And I should go to my flat so I can change into clean clothes and take care of some things. Ring me if you aren’t stuck in Q-branch tonight?”

Q nods.

James doesn’t hear from him, though. Instead, he hears from Eve, who hints strongly that Q could probably use a food delivery around midnight. James delivers a change of clothes with the meal and finds himself sent off to Mexico the next day before he and Q have a chance to talk.

When he enters Q-branch to pick up his gear, Q levels him a weary look, saying rather firmly, “A word, 007,” as if he’s in trouble. James follows him to his office, worried that Q’s reconsidered, but once the locks and security glass have been activated, he receives a forceful, passionate kiss rather than a dressing down. And then Q is all business. “A new Walther, coded as usual to your hand. One standard radio with emergency beacon. This pen has a tranquilizer dart, which should make retrieving the files off the mark quite a bit easier. Please don’t stab _yourself_ with it. And _please_ return it. There’s a lot of R &D funding in that little gadget, and we’d prefer not to start over. For that matter, please return everything to Q-branch.”

“Everything?” James asks suggestively, earning a scowl.

“If you’re going to resort to cheesy jokes, Bond, I’m calling everything off.”

James laughs, knowing an empty threat when he hears one.

“I’ll be back in a week with your lovely gear in tow.”

But he is not back in a week, and as the building explodes, all he can think is that Q is _absolutely_ going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. The Sixth Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags! Sorry for the delay in updating. It's been another crazy week. Unbeta'ed and probably a right mess... but a few questions get answered, so there's that.

The sixth time, he’s very late… or a bit early depending on how one views it.

The explosion destroyed his phone, knocked his radio loose to be lost in the rubble, and left his ears ringing loudly enough he couldn’t have used either if he wanted to. Slinking off the street, covered in dust, he makes eye contact with a few CCTV cameras, hoping Q is watching and his enemies aren’t. Hours later, after nicking a wallet off a tourist and buying himself some clean clothes, a burner flip-phone, and a nondescript room for the night with the cash, he texts “27 79 75” and hopes Q gets his code.

The next morning, his ears aren’t ringing, so he calls.

“Hello?” Q answers cautiously, wary of the unfamiliar number on his personal phone.

“It’s me.”

“Good of you to finally call.”  He's annoyed.

“I didn’t blow the building.”

Q sighs. “I know. You weren’t even the target. Someone didn’t want the trade discussions to go through. The data you were after is just one piece of a much larger puzzle. It’s gone, I suppose.”

“The phone is broken, the radio lost, the Walther down to one clip, but I have the drive.”

There’s a long pause. “I might just let you back in the country, then. Why didn’t you call yesterday?”

“Tinnitus. I did text. And tried to give you a glimpse of me on CCTV.”

“And I received both. Since when do you know ascii?”

James smirks. “Just trying to speak your native tongue. And this phone is old-style. Twelve keys only. Keeping the message brief and requiring only numerals was efficient.”

“I wasn’t expecting it. I thought you were trying to send me coordinates for extraction and were missing a few digits. But I had it in a few seconds: Esc OK.”

“I didn’t want extraction.”

“And M concurs. I have new mission details and equipment waiting for you at the embassy. And a secure connection for you to send the data to me. Can you get there?”

“Hmm. Should do. By tomorrow. Are you delivering?”

“003. I’m needed here. Russians are taking advantage of the chaos.”

“Did they perpetrate?”

“Unclear, but they have coordinated hacks going with us, the Americans, and China. It’s all we can do to stay ahead. It’s going to be an insane few days. Destroy this phone when we get off the line. A new secure one is waiting for you with 003. Once the delivery’s made, call from there if you have questions. 003 will be making her own way back via Cuba.”

“Understood. Thank you, Q.”

There’s a pause as if Q is distracted, or perhaps deciding what to say. “The mission will likely take several weeks. Do keep in touch, 007, and try to avoid falling buildings.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He finds himself chasing leads of a drug cartel linked to a weapons smuggling ring linked to money laundering and high society. It’s nasty work involving nasty people, himself included. He snaps several necks and beds several people in pursuit of the information, only once with Q in his ear. It… he doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like Q in his head when some blonde’s breast is in his hand. Q seems unperturbed, quietly offering him directions as he makes his escape onto the next link in the chain.

James can’t decide if he’s relieved or annoyed by this.

His calls into Q branch after that are mostly handled by R, and though she’s clever and efficient and takes little of his nonsense, he misses Q. When he makes a nonchalant inquiry, she informs him that Q has been straight out between fighting the hacks and keeping 003 alive. Her mission, apparently, is not going as well as Bond’s.

When the mission is complete, he calls in again, speaking with M this time. He requests a circuitous route home, which M approves both to give Bond a chance to decompress and to make him harder to track by anyone he might have pissed off along the way. R says she’ll get word to Q about his ETA, indicating that he’s just been sent home and is hopefully sleeping finally, and shouldn’t be disturbed. She adds that 003’s in hospital.

James is ready to board his well-deserved flight to The Bahamas, when he abruptly changes his flight to the last direct to Heathrow.

Which is how he comes to be climbing Q’s wall, both much later than the original week he expected to be gone, and rather earlier than scheduled. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.

As he enters Q’s flat via the window, he’s immediately on alert. The sitting room and kitchen are dark, but light filters from the hall, and strange noises interrupt the silence. A swish and a slap and a cry, and James has his gun drawn before he knows it, silently creeping down the hall to the door that is _always_ closed, but is now, remarkably, ajar. Another muffled cry has him bursting in, aiming his gun at a strange man in black holding a large crop raised and then swinging down on Q, who is bound to the bench, kneeling and naked and…

And hard. Dripping precome. His face a picture of cathartic euphoria until his eyes open and slowly focus on James and his gun. At which point his expression contorts to surprise, betrayal, and mortification.

James’ retreat to the sitting room amidst the swearing and outrage is faster than anything he did on the last mission.

“WAIT!” comes Q’s command, and he daren’t refuse.

James holsters his gun during the hushed conversation and movement in the other room and raises his hands in surrender as the lights switch on and Q comes out wearing a luxurious, silk dressing gown, his back straight and expression composed and defiant as he meets James’ gaze. The other man follows, wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt. He’s large, muscular, and _very_ angry.

“Thank-you, that will be all for tonight,” Q says over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on James.

The man shakes his head. “I really don’t think I should be the one leaving.”

“I can leave,” James offers. “I—”

“No,” Q says, in the same voice he uses at work. The one that brooks no argument.

“I’ll be fine,” he offers more gently, turning to the man in black. “As I said, he’s a friend.”

“Some friend.”

“His timing can be remarkably bad at times,” Q acknowledges. “Please.”

The man gives James a look that says if he does anything to hurt Q, there’ll be hell to pay. James admires his loyalty, staring down an armed man.

“Call me in an hour so I know you’re okay,” he insists.

 

“Jon—”

“Consider it aftercare,” he — Jon — murmurs, leaning close into Q’s ear. Q hesitates, and then nods.

A quiet snick of the door, and then they’re alone.

“Well,” says Q with a sigh. “You decided against the travel arrangements R sent, I see.”

“Q, I’m so sorry—”

Q holds up his hand. “I could really use a drink. Scotch?”

James shrugs, and Q moves deliberately into the kitchen, taking two glasses and pouring generous amounts of amber liquid in each. He turns and hands one to James, already sipping his own, and walks over to the window James broke in through, closing it against the chill.

He remains facing the window, watching James in the reflection. He takes several more sips before turning to face him.

“So, Jon’s a lover?”

“No, James,” Q answers with a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Jon is a Dom. A very trusted, very loyal Dom, whom I’ve known since university.” He takes another sip. “I’ve always… I’ve always had problems quieting my mind. When I was young, my parents tried medication — which I abhorred — and meditation — which I was pants at. But this… subbing. It actually works. When I’m in subspace, my mind is quiet and I respond to each stimulus, one at a time, and I don’t feel out of control or overwhelmed. It’s… it’s the _only_ thing that works when I’m really bad.”

“Oh, bloody hell, and I pulled you out abruptly and probably undid whatever good it was doing you. Call him back. I’ll go, and we can talk about it later.”

“It’s too late for that, Bond. I won’t be able to get back into it mentally now.”

“Subspace?” James asks for clarification.

Q nods slowly. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much,” James admits. “We’ve been trained to tell the difference between human trafficking, torture, coercion, and more consensual activities that might look similar on the surface. I’ve never… delved. But I knew my mistake as soon as I saw you. Please understand, I was just coming off a very violent mission and assumed the worst.”

Q nods, looking down into his drink. Resigned. “I need to know,” he says quietly.

“Know what?” James asks, not liking the hint of fear in Q’s voice.

“If you can still work with me. Be led by me through ops. I need to be respected by the 00s, I need them to follow my orders. If they find out I _recreationally_ enjoy—”

“Okay, stop. _Stop,_ ” James says, coming forward and putting a hand on Q’s shoulder, cursing himself as Q stiffens. “Of course, I can work with you,” he says, gentling his hand so Q can pull away if he wants, but not removing it. “You’re the best Quartermaster I’ve had… definitely the best handler.” He flinches at the accidental double entendre that _of course_ Q catches and glares at him for. “Do you know what I do after a bad mission? I drink enough to scorch the edges from my memory. And I find some stranger to fight or fuck. I don’t go to someone I trust and have known for years. Someone who will take control when I need it, but give it back in an instant at a signal. Your way of coping seems _far_ more sensible than mine.”

The rush of words ends, and they stare at each other a moment, Q surprised and chewing his lip. “Lately,” Q counters, “you’ve come here after bad missions.”

That’s true, actually. And that’s much better than getting into a fight. Last time particularly.

Q sighs and finishes his drink. “I think you should go now.”

“Q—”

“I’m exhausted. It’s been a hellish week, and I still don’t know if Natalie is going to survive her injuries or still be an agent afterward. I just… I need sleep. I’ll be in the office Monday. You can check in whatever tech you didn’t destroy, then.

James wants to protest, but he sees the wisdom of getting a bit of distance from the situation. And Q does look exhausted. “Okay,” he agrees quietly. “I’ll go. But just know, this is private, Q. And I won’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Q studies him a long time and then nods.

“Don’t forget to call Jon,” James reminds him as he backs toward the door. “And get some rest, Q. I’ll see you Monday.”

The days until Monday stretch out before him. He settles into his flat, which is kept clean in his absence and isn’t _completely_ devoid of groceries, but lacks comfort items. James does the wash and runs a few errands, stocking up on groceries and spirits and picking up his dry cleaning. He goes for runs every morning, trying to feel some semblance of normalcy after the mission and the revelations that followed. His mind keeps returning to Q. To all the times he’s broken into the man’s flat. All the meals they’d shared. His quick wit and dry humor. How he can seem strong and almost delicate simultaneously.

He’s thinking on all this during one of his runs, when he passes a store in Notting Hill that catches his attention: Grate Expectations, featuring bondage and discipline gear, with a healthy reference section. He spends the rest of the weekend sitting by the window in his club chair, sipping whiskey, listening to the rain, and researching BDSM.

When Monday rolls around, Bond strolls into Q branch with his usual swagger. Q is reserved. It’s subtle, and he imagines the minions just consider him to be tired still, but James sees the caution. He seems to be bracing himself for James to let something slip, or tease him, or hold the knowledge over him somehow. James silently wonders who’s betrayed his trust in the past, and makes a point to act no differently than he was in the weeks leading up to the Mexico trip: same banter, same warmth. He offers up the tech still remaining from the last mission, which isn’t much, but more than Q anticipated getting back.

“Is anyone else on mission?” he asks as Q checks in the tech with only moderate amounts of tsking.

“Alec is still deep undercover. R is monitoring him most of the time. Margot is heading to Italy at the end of the week. Jason is coming back from Jordan today, and you were meant to be arriving tomorrow.”

It’s the closest either of them has come to acknowledging what passed in Q’s flat. “So,” James continues without missing a beat, “Any chance you’ll be free for dinner?”

Q just stares.

“You know, for our usual non-date date? I noticed a new Moroccan restaurant opened in my neighborhood, and thought you might like to try it out.”

“You…” Q pushes his glasses up on his nose and fiddles with the papers in front of him. “You want to go to dinner?”

“If you’re free,” Bond acknowledges.

“I love Moroccan food.”

“I remember.”

There's a small rise in the corner of Q’s lips. “I might not be able to get away ‘til late.”

“Shall I make a reservation for half seven?”

The smile grows a little larger — still barely noticeable, just a ghost of a smirk — but James sees it as Q nods.

“Marvelous. I’ll be by to drag you from the branch at seven.”

He turns to leave, feeling Q eyes follow him out of the room and trying not to grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. The Seventh Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last Bond Break-in and the last hours of the Fest... I scrambled to get this in under the wire, which means it's probably even MORE of a mess than usual. Unbetaed, of course, so all the myriad mistakes are mine. Still, I've had this series of break-ins in my head for a long time, and I'm delighted to get them onto paper, so to speak. And I have tons more headcanons for this version of the boys, so this will be continued in future post-Fest stories. Thanks for indulging me... I didn't do so many prompt fills as I should have, but this just needed doing...

The seventh time, he doesn’t use the window.

But first, there’s dinner: James and Q sitting on low cushions at an inlaid, hexagonal table sharing surprisingly authentic Moroccan food, talking about everything. Well, not _everything_. They discuss Q’s university days. His studies — two degrees in engineering and a surprising amount of art history classes, mostly audited to keep Q sane. The thrill he felt at solving problems and earning the respect of at least some of his peers. Q’s traveled far more than James had realized, but it’s mostly via train and boat. His fear of flying is real, based on the crash that had killed both his parents when he was young.

James, in turn, shares stories about the Navy, about his love/hate relationship with Skyfall Lodge, about his favorite cities. It’s over far too soon, and when James walks Q to his door, he kisses him. Not on the cheek as he had been before... the discovery, but also not with any expectation of being invited in. It’s warm and not at all chaste, and Q’s initial pleased sound of surprise gives way quickly to a surrender that catches James off-guard and makes his blood soar. He’s tempted, so tempted, to push things… to make this merely a prelude to a long night together. But he doesn’t. As the kiss ends and James wishes Q goodnight, he thinks he reads equal parts disappointment and relief in Q’s expression before he softens it and offers James one, last, sweet kiss before heading inside. And though he’s not entirely sure what has Q conflicted, he understands at a fundamental level: whatever is happening between them is going to be complicated. Best to take it slow.

They go out a week later, this time to a Lebanese restaurant that Q chooses, and James is once again pleasantly surprised to see how easily conversation comes between them. How it can range from the role of technological advancement in history to politics to fine art without stumbling. James finds himself watching Q’s lips and hands as he talks animatedly. He’s so damned bright and young and beautiful, it’s hard to imagine he doesn’t have some hipster boyfriend just as long and lean and young as he is. But intimacy is hard in their line of work. They’ve each seen the stress of the job wear the other down. And that’s an intimacy all its own.

The kiss that night is warm enough that James has a much harder time turning away.

The problem is his research. He’s now read enough and watched enough videos to have a good theoretical understanding of BDSM — and even appreciate the psychology of it in some way — but his visceral reaction is still negative. It all comes a bit too close to the times he’s been bound and in pain, and those were some of the worst experiences of his life.  Real torture, designed to take him apart, and not in a good way. These videos are meant to make the viewer excited, but whenever he tries to watch them, he loses any arousal he may have started with, flashing back instead to the feeling of his hands and ankles tied with rope to a chair, the rough, coarse knot swinging up on his bare bollocks over and over. Or worse, the cold metal loops of wrist restraints and the sound of a drill…

But then he remembers the scene he interrupted, Q most specifically — the long, graceful arch of his back as he rose his arse up to the strikes, his expression of bliss, the long line of his cock, hard and dripping.

 _That_ turns him on. He shuts the video off and closes his eyes, reaching a hand down to his cock as he sits in his club chair. He strokes himself remembering that moment _before_ it all went to hell. Remembering Q kneeling in front of him in the shower, offering care but perhaps something else that he didn’t recognize at the moment. He thinks of the way Q surrenders when James kisses him, and how it triggers a response in himself he doesn’t quite acknowledge. He comes, and as he cleans himself, he feels more confused than ever.

They manage one last dinner before he has to go out on mission, and this time, he doesn’t walk away after the kiss. Q is in an interesting mood. High on some tech breakthrough on a project, he’s more animated than usual, practically flirty as they order Thai food, insisting they share a Som Tom before the entrees come. He’s watching Bond appreciatively. Watching Bond watch _him_ appreciatively, and by the time James walks Q to his door, the energy is crackling between them. Q clings to his lapels during the kiss at the door in a way that makes it clear Bond is _not_ getting away easily. Fortunately, he has no desire to do so.

Q presses his hand against the security system and opens the door while _still_ kissing Bond, and leads him, stumbling backward, toward the bedroom. Soon he has James laid out on his back, nude, and is doing the most _glorious_ things with his mouth — down James' chest, down his abdomen, along his cock. It’s an experience, being the subject of Q’s intense attention. His eyes close as Q engulfs his cock with a wide, warm mouth, and he has to grudgingly admit that Q has skills in this area that he himself can’t match. And he discovers Q’s hair is as soft as he’s imagined it as he threads fingers through it. In only moments, he’s tugging on Q’s curls, urging him back up James’ body so he can kiss him properly, because he is _absolutely not_ going to come before he’s ready. Q allows it, straddling him and arching against his body as James plunders his mouth and grasps his arse. It only takes his pinky fingers dipping toward Q’s opening before the boffin is thrusting a bottle of lube into his hand. He’s trying to work Q open gently, but Q is having none of it, slipping a condom onto James’ cock and lowering himself onto it long before James would have expected him to be ready. And _fuck_ he’s tight and hot and Bond almost whites out as Q finally works himself all the way down.

And now the show really begins. Q rides him with gusto, undulating and arching and _fucking hell_ he’s fantastic. All dark lashes and alabaster skin over lean, writhing muscles, looking like some impish fey. James takes Q’s cock in hand, determined to make Q come first. It’s the most playful shag he’s had in ages, and he just barely hangs on until Q comes and James allows himself to follow over the edge. 

After, they lay panting side by side on their backs, both grinning.

He’s still recovering when Q gets up to use to loo, returning with a warm cloth to wipe James down.

“Do you have early meetings tomorrow?” James asks, wondering if Q prefers to start his day alone.

“No, and don’t you dare think about leaving.”

“Suits me. You shagged me blind.”

Q actually giggles at that. He rolls toward James, not entangling himself, but lying so that his breath puffs against James’ shoulder. “Go to sleep. We’ll see if your eyesight’s returned by morning.” And with that, they both drift off.

James starts to wake the next morning before dawn, Q pressed up against him, his morning wood firm against James’ hip.

His body responds almost lazily, becoming aroused enough that he turns toward Q, still half asleep, and pulls him closer. And that’s all it takes, really. They’re both moving dreamily against one another, eyes closed, mouths finding each other in the dark. It’s a lazy, pleasing exploration, ramping up slowly until James rolls onto Q, threads his fingers through Q's and drags their hands up and over Q’s head, pinning Q's hands as he kisses him. The change in Q is immediate. He’s no longer the playful, mischievous lover of the night before, nor the clever fingers and lips exploring him in the early morn. He goes utterly still, then shudders and arches and exposes his neck, whimpering a small _please_ into the darkness between them.

The submission goes straight to Bond’s cock and a pleased, possessive, primitive part of his mind. Pressing Q’s hands into the mattress, he lowers his mouth to that long, alabaster neck and sucks a bruise that will last for days, relishing Q’s cry of “yes!” and the way he writhes under him. He explores Q’s jaw, more and more roughly as Q offers incoherent encouragements and little thrusts up against him.

James takes both of Q’s wrists in one hand and drags his other down Q’s body, possessive as Q spreads his legs in invitation.

“Please, James…” Q whispers.

“What do you need, love?”

“You. You, like this.”

“You’re not sore?”

Q shakes his head and gasps as James drags a hand across his cock and down to his opening still a bit slick from last night.

 _Fuck._ That’s… he could use another hand or two, but he’ll make it work. He finds the lube on the nightstand and starts working Q open with one hand while holding his wrists with the other. Looming over him.   Managing the condom is a bit challenging, but where there’s a will… And then he’s sinking into Q, pressing him into the mattress, pushing one of his legs up almost ruthlessly, surprised to find how flexible Q is. All the while, Q is begging for more, gasping and hard and arching to get more. So James gives him everything, pounding into him and kissing him roughly, finding the angle that makes Q arch and cry out and moments later come in a burst expletives. James follows with a few more thrusts and is abruptly collapsing next to Q.

That… that was unlike anything James had ever done before. He turns to look toward Q, who is now barely illuminated by the light dawning outside. Q looks utterly peaceful, dark bruise blooming on the side of his neck notwithstanding.

“Okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

Q pries one eye open with an exhausted smile and nods. “I should get us a flannel.”

“I’ll do it,” James offers, rising to dispose of the condom and clean up. He returns to a sleepy Q and cleans him as he hums appreciatively, turning and burying his face into his pillow.

“Come back to bed?” Q asks.

James curls in behind him, holding Q like something fragile and precious.

When they wake again, it’s time for Q to get ready for work, and after offering  one last pleased kiss, he shoos James out the door

They see each other later in the afternoon, when James collects his gear for the upcoming mission. The bruise is just visible over the collar of Q’s shirt, and he seems well aware and well pleased. His whole demeanor is pleased, actually. And it occurs to James that maybe _that_ had been enough to give Q a bit of a… a subspace fix. And that had come remarkably easily and naturally to James.

“Safe travels, 007,” Q says in his usual crisp syllables.

“Thank you, Q,” he answers, eyes drifting back to that possessive bruise. “Have a pleasant week.”

It’s a slow mission, and he finds he has a lot of time to think. James has always prided himself on being a good lover — generous and attentive, always reading his partner and giving them what they need. He also has a bit of a domineering streak that he generally tries to tamp down. In the past, if he’d reacted to a lover the way he’d reacted to Q, he would have felt guilty for holding him down, even if it seemed to be exactly what was wanted in the moment. He keeps waiting for the self-chastisement to start, but it never does, in part, because Q had seemed so relaxed the next morning… almost the opposite of the awkwardness that would have arisen if a similar thing had happened with anyone else James had ever been with. Q wasn’t submissive in the morning, but he also wasn’t ashamed of having been submissive. And that afforded James the freedom of not being ashamed of being domineering. No. _Dominant_.

He also realizes he’s been focused on the wrong thing when watching those videos. He’d remembered his own responses to restraint, which were all negative.  But that morning in bed, he’d been focused on _Q’s_ response to being restrained. And Q is completely turned on when restrained. And that’s a turn on for James, even now.

He has time on his hands in Berlin before the mark arrives, so he does a bit of local research and finds a club where a Dom takes pity on him. The Dom selects a sub that likes bondage and spanking, strips him and secures him over a raised, padded table, and proceeds to teach James how to use a flogger, a crop, a paddle, and a cane. James quickly gets over any concern that he’s hurting the man, instead fascinated by the needy cries for more that soon have his cock aching. It’s a delicate balance, finding the amount of force that causes an erotic sting rather than bruising pain, but the Dom talks him through strategies for the location and force of the blows with different tools. In the end, all three of them are hard and panting, the sub’s expression showing he’s clearly lost in sensation and still begging for more. James can get imagine _perfectly_ that expression on Q’s face, and it has him wishing he were in London.

“Shhhh. I’ll take care of you, pet,” the Dom says, pulling his cock out and sliding it into the eager mouth. James steps back and watches as the Dom teases the man a few more minutes and finally fucks him almost brutally. The sub never stops asking for more.

Afterward, he watches as the Dom releases the restraints and gathers the sub into his arms cooing praise, stroking his hair and rubbing feeling back into his wrists, and then turning him to inspect his arse, rubbing a salve across the welts.

“You look fine. How do you feel?” the Dom asks.

“Very good, sir. Thank you. Does _sir_ need anything?” he asks, looking over his shoulder to eye Bond’s bulge.

“Ah, no, but thank you. That was most instructive and… stimulating.”

The Dom gives him a smirk and a nod, and Bond escapes into the cool Berlin evening.

His mission goes well, concluding sooner than expected, but when he calls Q Branch, Moneypenny answers.

“He can’t talk right now,” she snaps.

“What’s happening?”

There’s a pause that feels like an eternity, “Jason was betrayed by his contact. He’s been shot. Q is trying to get him out, but he’s in the middle of the Ukraine countryside. It doesn’t look good..”

“When?”

“It was clear things were going south an hour ago. Q’s been on the job… for ages. I don’t even know. It’s not good, James, and he feels responsible for not catching it.”

“That’s bollocks.”

“Jason said as much, I need to go. Sit tight. I’ll have R call you when she has a moment to arrange transport back, but it might not be 'til morning,” And the line goes dead.

Well, bugger that.

He rents a car and drives from southern Germany, where the mission took him, all the way to London. He doesn’t even stop at home first. Doesn’t dare climb to the balcony in the rain. He just knocks on the door, and when there’s no answer, pounds on it, calling Q’s name like some deranged maniac.

And then he remembers the _second_ time Q had him press his hand to an iPad, and out of curiosity, he puts his hand on the electronic sensor, surprised and relieved to hear the lock click open.

He hears the shower immediately, and rushes to the bathroom to find Q staring at himself in the mirror, not yet wet. He starts at the sight of Bond.

“James? But you’re in Berlin…”

“I decided to get myself home.”

Q’s eyes rake over him like a hungry man, but then he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I’d love to welcome you back properly, but I can’t tonight. I need… I _need…_ ”

“I know what you need, love,” James says, pulling him into an embrace. “That’s why I rushed back.”

Q freezes. “But… you aren’t a Dom.” There’s a slight lilt in his voice, like he’s questioning the statement.

“Not a practicing one, no. Not yet.  But I think we both know I have a certain... inclination.  And I’ve been learning.”

“What?” Q pulls away to look at him.

“I’ve been learning. I’ve been… I couldn’t get it out of my mind. The way you looked when I… stormed the castle. You were _so gorgeous._ ”

Q shakes his head, this time in disbelief. “You liked it? I thought… I don’t know. That you were still pursuing me because you were being tolerant of my… quirks… as long as we were normal together.”

“No, love. Of course, I _do_ want to be the one to do ‘normal’ things with you… dinner and movies and waking up together in the middle of the night. But I also want to be the one to make you look like _that_. Feel _that_. If you’ll let me try. And if I’m pants at it, I’ll call Jon myself and make sure you’re taken care of, and never begrudge you the choice. But let me try. Please.”

Q stares at him for a moment as if he’s grown another head, and then he bites his lip and glances at the phone. “I’ll have to call Jon and cancel.”

Relief floods through James “Do it,” he says. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind, but that you appreciate his assistance. Will he mind?”

“He won’t _mind_ , but he’ll joyfully take it out of my hide next time I have to call him. Quite literally and in the best of ways. _If_ I have to call him again,” Q adds, almost shyly. He bites his lip again.  “What do you want me to do after that?”

A thrill flutters low in James’ stomach. Q is already seeming better. And he knows exactly how to answer this; he’s been practicing the whole way home. “After you tell Jon he isn’t needed,” James says softly, “I want you to prepare yourself just as you would have for him. And then I want you to go to the _room_ and lay out ten items you’d like me to use on you tonight… I don’t promise to use them all, mind you, but I want to see where your head is and have some choices. Once you’ve laid those out, I want you to kneel on the floor, naked, with your hands behind your back, and wait for me. I’ll know you’re ready when the room goes quiet. In the meantime, I’ll be in the sitting room.”

Q looks positively enthralled by his instructions, and nearly dives for the phone as James turns to leave him to it.

James retreats to the kitchen, rummaging through Q’s takeaway containers in the fridge. With any luck, it’s going to be a very long, very enjoyable night,

James is going to need his strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> And fear not! I won't leave it there! I'm just going to move the "action" to the next story of the series, already started and well planned out. So this one is marked finished, but more will be on the way soon.


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